At Least This Truck Has Airbags
by chasingmavericks
Summary: Henry could tell his son was in pain. Seconds earlier, their drive up the coast to a crime scene was interrupted by the front grill of a large truck, sending them careening off the road. Father and son moments. Concerned!Henry and Shawn whump...of course.
1. How Ironic

**Welcome! This is an idea that has been ringing through my head. I have not decided how far it'll go but I wanted a story predominantly between Henry and Shawn-specifically in a rather dire situation. I don't know, the whole awkward father/son relationship kinda gets me. This is only my second fanfic ever (my other was a White Collar fanfic), so let me know how it goes. I am writing for pure enjoyment and I hope at least one person will enjoy this too.**

 **So it starts in Shawn's POV and the chapter ends with a brief 3rd person perspective. I intend to write in Henry's POV next, and probably go with the 3rd person from that point on. But it depends, tell me what you like!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. I did own a Psych phone case in my early teenage years, however.**

 **Summary: If there was one thing I could tell, my son was in pain. This was my fault and now it's my job to get us both out of this alive.**

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

 _How ironic._

Just last week I was "lectured" by my dad _again_ about my "mode of transportation" as he calls it. I've had my motorcycle for years, I mean that thing and I are one in the same. There is no me—no witty, handsome, fabulous-hair-adorning me—without it. I _may_ have been run off the road a few months ago and I _may_ have been dropped off via—did I just say via? I like it. Anyway, _via_ an ambulance to my dad's place when I was 20 after a not so graceful, but still very cool looking, accident—no, not accident, that sounds too drastic—fall? Tumble? Failed attempt at flying? I seemingly brushed off his remark about crossing his name off the list the next time the ambulance needs to take me somewhere. But I'll be honest, and I will be very betrayed if you tell him this, but hearing him say that made me feel a pang of guilt in my chest.

I mean, I obviously have no idea what it's like to be a father—to a son like me nonetheless—and I guess I take for granted the fact that he has to deal with my antics. He wasn't "lecturing" me because he wanted to be mean and insult my bike, instead it was his strange, twisted, "I don't know how to show emotion properly" Papa Bear way of saying that he loves me—oh God, did I just say that?

Like I said, if you tell him any of this I will find you and subscribe your name to every magazine I come across. Okay, threat acknowledged? Great, let's continue.

But you are probably wondering _why_ I am saying this? "Why are you being so deep and sentimental Shawn? Is Gus making you watch another angst-filled drama?" Well I am so glad you asked, you see, I am not particularly awake right now. Unfortunately, I am not dreaming. Unconscious would be a better word, although I wish the former was true. The only good thing about the state I am in is that I cannot feel the pain I know is lurking just above the surface of my subconscious. Well, if it's above can it still be lurking? I guess technically I am the one lurking below my own subconscious? Is that a thing? Okay, doesn't matter, maybe the pain is _soaring_ above my subconscious. The bottom line is that it is there and it is waiting for me when I wake up. I suppose if I stay in this state, I won't actually have to face that pain— _or agony_ —I am probably supposed to be feeling right about now.

The only complaint I have about being in this state is that all I can focus on is my father. He is literally the sole focus of the movie screen playing in my head. If I were my typical sarcastic self (and you know, _awake_ ) I'd probably make some reference to some movie and end up irking my dad in some way. Gus would elbow me for my remark but not be able to hide his smirk, Jules would look at the floor, concealing her laugh, and Lassie would just roll his eyes and return to the coffee dispenser. I would like to go back to that state—awake, you know, surrounded by friends. Or sort of friends, I guess Lassie doesn't particularly count, but I think I am growing on him—although he'd say I'm growing on him like some form of flesh-eating bacteria. But that is neither here nor there.

I realize I am completely rambling. I still have not told you what happened. I will blame my ADD. Remember I said this was ironic, right? And then started talking about my bike and my father and wow I realize this got way out of hand. Maybe I have head trauma? I guess that would explain my unconscious state. Well, here's the ironic thing that happened…

My dad and I were driving to a crime scene together. Is that ironic? Maybe. But not the thing I'm talking about. You see, it was dark and a little rainy and I, for some reason or another, stopped at my dad's house before returning to the Psych office. There had been a string of murders plaguing Santa Barbara and I received a call from Jules about the fourth murder. Oh Jules, I'd really love to see her right about now.

Sorry! Off track I know. So, I tell my dad about the murder and apologize that I have to leave before dinner. We had actually made it about thirty minutes without a single argument and I was curious to find out if we would set a new record.

The murder happened about ten miles north up the coast and I told him I'd have to get on my bike and get up there as soon as possible. By this time, it was already raining harder and I was somewhat dreading getting soaked, however the case was much more important than my soggy clothes. I couldn't call Gus either, he was still on his way back from San Francisco after attending a pharmaceutical convention—seriously, do those even exist? And Lassie and Jules couldn't give me a ride either because they were already there. I was halfway out the door when I was stopped dead— _I hope that doesn't become ironic as this story progresses—_ in my tracks when I heard my dad speak.

"Let me take you, Shawn." He said as he stood up from the table. He was already reaching for his keys, showing me that I really did not have a choice in the matter. I was relieved, yes, but at the same time it was kind of weird, I mean, doesn't my dad hate getting involved in my "psychic" work?

"It's too dangerous for you to be driving out there and besides, we can stop for dinner on the way back." He said, almost gently? No, Henry Spencer is not gentle. Oh, sweet Lord. I really must have head trauma to be recalling the memory like this.

Anyway, I agreed on all ends. Yes, taking the truck was a good idea and who knows, maybe my dad will be of use down there. Anytime a potential serial killer pops up anywhere, let alone Santa Barbara, I know it kills him to not be involved.

So, we get in the truck and start our curvy drive up the backroads of the coast.

 _Shawn!_

What was that? Did that sound like my father? How rude, interrupting my story and what not. Seriously, I haven't even _told you_ what happened.

 _Oh my God._

Okay, like I have done for the majority of my life, I'm going to pretend I can't hear him. I need to finish my story, maybe take a nap after (can you nap while unconscious?), and then go out for some pineapple smoothies. Oh wait, it's raining and cold, so pineapple…tea? Anyway, moving on.

So, my dad is driving and we are not saying much, but then I see him adjust his grip on the steering wheel a little tighter.

"You know Shawn." I turned towards him. "If there is a serial killer on our hands, I want—no, I _need_ you to be extra careful. If it was my choice you wouldn't be involved." He sighed, sounding almost defeated.

It took me a second to analyze his words. For once I decided not to snap back with something snarky or completely sarcastic. I realized he was being completely serious.

"Dad, you know I can help." I looked down toward the floor mat. "If this person has already killed four people, I am going to do everything I can to make sure there isn't a fifth innocent life lost." Wow, look at me, getting all intense and macho-y.

My dad let out a slight laugh—not like "haha that's funny" laugh but one of those laughs you give when you're either impressed, surprised, or maybe even proud. He turned towards me and—what was that? Did he just smile at me? This is so weird, I feel like I'm trapped in an episode of…of…oh my God, my brain is seriously not working. I'm the master of obscure 80's references! This might be worse than I thought.

But, he did smile at me, that part I certainly didn't imagine. He locked eyes with me, patted my shoulder (really Pop? You're driving!) and said, "I'm damn proud of you." He turned his eyes back to the road, although not much was visible thanks to his ancient windshield wipers and lackluster headlights.

At this point I'm somewhat dumbfounded. What is going on? Did he just find out he has a month to live or something and is yet to tell me? I kind of just nod at him and I can't actually hide the fact that those words had a warming effect on me, despite the serial killer situation.

I opened my mouth to say something more but my eyes caught a glint of light and I suddenly realized all hell was about to break loose.

"Dad! Look ou—" was all I could manage before the headlights of a large truck became very well acquainted with the passenger side (yep, _my side_ ) of my dad's truck. The sound of the impact was just awful but it was nothing compared to how it felt. It felt as if our truck was picked up and tossed to the side like a corn hole beanbag. For a second, I felt weightless as the truck did a full 180-degree spin across the road before tilting my way, but that feeling quickly dissipated as gravity took control, forcing the truck all the way to its side. I felt my seatbelt lock, stopping my forward moment and forcing all the air from my chest. We rolled—I think? —a few times before coming to an abrupt halt at the base of a tree, most likely quite far from the road.

To be honest, I wouldn't really know where we were at this point. The second the truck smashed into the tree I was immediately thrown into the passenger door. Seatbelts are great for stopping you from going through the windshield but they definitely give you some wiggle room when it comes to sideways movement. I assume my head hit the window—well that would explain my "head trauma" and lack of funny T.V. show references—and I was out like a chubby kid trying to steal 2nd base.

 _Shawn! Hey!_

Damn it. At least you know what happened now. You get the irony, right? C'mon. My dad harangues me for not utilizing a safe mode of transportation and then Bam! Here we are in his truck, lying on the side of the road in a ditch—okay, maybe we aren't in a ditch—but I'm allowed to exaggerate, I'm _unconscious!_ Honestly, I'm feeling quite breathless. I don't know if it was me recounting the story or if I'm waking up. I'm hoping for the former but—

 _Jesus kid, c'mon!_

Just five more min—

 _That's it!_

Ugh seriousl—

 _Come on back, Shawn._

Alright if you say so.

 _It's okay, son._

Here goes nothing.

"There you go, that's good. Just breathe. Take it easy." Henry said to his semi-conscious son.

He couldn't get a clear look of all of Shawn's body in the near darkness and because of the angle they were sitting at, but what he could see was all that mattered right now.

His eyes were _open._

He was _breathing._

And, most importantly, he was _alive._

 **Alright, here it is, the first chapter. I will be honest, I promise I am good at updating. As an avid reader, there is nothing I hate more than waiting for updates! SO readers, if you're out there, let me know what you think, what you want, your darkest secrets? Okay, maybe not the last. But, I'd love to hear from you! See you soon.**


	2. Silence Isn't Bliss

**Okay, this is somewhat rushed, but just wanted to get it in before the weekend. I might go back and edit a bit, but thanks for bearing with me!**

I was reaching for Shawn the second I heard him yell, but before I made contact, we were already spinning. I felt the concussive blow as the truck crashed into the right side of our truck and then we were spinning. That didn't last long and spinning was replaced with rolling. We came to an abrupt stop and the motion was over nearly as fast as it started.

I wanted to smile.

"That could've been a lot worse." I said before opening my eyes.

I was amazed I felt completely intact, besides a little dizziness from the rolling and a bit of a headache, but everything seemed to be where it was supposed to be. I probably couldn't say the same about my truck, however, but I'd just call a tow and assess the damage later.

It had only been a few seconds, but I was somewhat surprised that Shawn hadn't said anything yet. It was completely dark; wherever we ended up obviously didn't invest in street lights.

I was waiting for a joke about my poorly timed father/son moment just a few minutes ago, but he was being quiet, probably thanking the heavens for the fact that this accident wasn't as bad as it could have been.

You know, I don't really know what came over me, but I just felt the need to tell him that I was proud of the way he has contributed to the SBPD. It may be unconventional, but he does good work. I don't think he realizes how much I worry about him getting hurt out there. I know I was the one who trained him throughout the majority of his childhood, but still, he's my only son.

I began to realize that I had been sitting in silence for over a minute.

"Shawn." I say, craning my neck to get a look at him.

That's when I realized why he was being so quiet.

"Shawn!" I yelled while reaching toward him. I wasn't panicking yet, but I could feel my heart rate begin to increase.

He was slumped awkwardly sideways, his head leaning against the now cracked window. It was too dark to see anything else, but I could hear his quick pants of breath coming shallowly from his mouth.

Immediately I reached into the glove box and grabbed a flashlight I kept there, for obvious reasons. I flicked it on—of course it is the dimmest flashlight on the market—and pointed it toward my son.

"Oh my God."

That statement was more involuntary than voluntary. I couldn't hide my shock at his appearance. I tried to lean forward, only to be stopped by my seatbelt. I wrestled with that thing for another minute, never taking my eyes off of Shawn. I was afraid if I did, he'd stop breathing somehow.

I finally freed myself and slid closer to him. I didn't know where to start.

 _C'mon Henry. You are trained for situations like this._

Okay, step one: Access the damage.

Alright, he's breathing. That's good. I reached two fingers toward his neck.

 _Atta kid._

His pulse was strong, steady, beating with a purpose. _Thank God._

I didn't want to move him at all out of fear for injuries I couldn't see. I leaned over him, resting my hand against the passenger door and steadying the flashlight on the right side of his face. A hideous trail of blood was snaking down his head from his hairline, passing over his jaw and soaking into his jacket collar. _Damn it._

He was out cold. I began to realize the longer he stayed that way, the more serious this whole situation was. I quickly looked down at the rest of his body. It was quite evident that mostly his right side suffered the brunt of the blow. His arm hung awkwardly at his side, his hand resting on his thigh. Dislocated shoulder? Broken arm? I couldn't tell but it definitely had to hurt. I winced sympathetically, absolutely hating every second of seeing my son in this state. Him being this quiet and still was just _not right._

His breathing was sounding more labored. I added possible broken ribs to the list. I had to wake him up as soon as possible and get us both the hell out of here. We needed help.

I used the flashlight to search for my cellphone, almost laughing to myself when I found it right next to the gas pedal. Without thinking I dialed Lassiter's number. Personally, I didn't want to explain everything to a 911 operator, I had more important things to deal with.

"Lassiter. Don't talk. It's Henry Spencer. Shawn and I were driving up to meet you, ended up on the side of the rode after being hit by another truck."

" _What? Are you okay?"_

"I said don't talk, just listen. Shawn is hurt. I don't even know exactly where we are. We were about halfway to you and taking some backroads but now I don't even know how far off the road we ended up. Just please, get us some help over here."

" _Alright hang tight. We'll get the help you need out there as soon as possible."_

"Lassiter, I need a better promise than that. Shawn might not have that long."

" _Jesus Spencer how b—"_

"I don't have time to explain! Just get us out of here!"

I slammed my phone down and turned back to my son.

"Shawn! Hey!" I yelled as I gently put my hand on his left shoulder. I received no reaction.

"Jesus kid, c'mon!" At that, I felt him stir under my hand.

"That's it!" I heard him inhale sharply.

"Come on back, Shawn." I said as I could see him fighting to open his eyes.

"It's okay, son." I pleaded, knowing he'd be in copious pain upon waking.

Finally, his eyes opened. They were unfocused, but wide with fear. They looked that way when he caught the glimpse of the truck before it hit us. He seemed to realize what happened and relaxed slightly.

"There you go, that's good. Just breathe. Take it easy." I whispered to him as his senses came back.

I could tell the kid was in pain. My heart tore as I watched him go from a peaceful slumber, to confused waking, to complete agony. But nothing could prepare me for what he said.

"Not your fault." He breathed out, barely audible. He looked at me for a second and I could see something in his eyes I couldn't quite make out, but it was gone in an instant and replaced with complete and utter pain.

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

Shawn lifted his head from the window and doubled over, still restrained by his seatbelt.

"Oh my God." He choked out. "Ah!"

"Shawn! Calm down! It's okay." Henry tried to comfort his son.

His breathing became harsher and quicker and Henry could tell he was barely inhaling.

"Shawn, focus! Tell me where it hurts." Henry pleaded.

At that, Shawn stilled and closed his eyes. Henry could see that his son was analyzing the last several minutes and taking stock of the pain in his body. If he could turn the pain into an observation, perhaps it wouldn't be so overwhelming.

He took a few steadying breaths. "Everywhere. Right side. My head." His voice was thin.

"My—my arm. Dad…" he looked up at Henry with fear in his eyes. Normally his eyes showed lightheartedness and mischief, but now they only showed fear and pain.

"I know, kid. We will get you fixed up." Henry said, although he was just as scared. "Lassiter already knows. He's sending help."

"Oh _great_. He will never let me live this down." Shawn replied.

 _Was that a hint of sarcasm?_ Henry thought, hoping that Shawn's pain was dissipating slightly.

His hope vanished within a second as Shawn winced and his breath caught. "This—' Shawn said as he wrapped his left arm around his torso '—is bad. God!" He screamed in frustration and discomfort.

Henry did his best to reassure his son that help was coming. He needed Shawn to stay focused, awake, and _alive._

He just didn't know how long that wait would be.

 **Not sure if I love it? Might go back and edit. I want to add more—there is definitely more to come! But, reviews make me happy, so please do that! Thanks psychos**


	3. Damages

**For those of you that have read and reviewed, THANK YOU! For all of you silent readers out there, I appreciate you reading so much. Please do not hesitate to let me know how you like it! I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am.**

 **Note: I apologize if the alternating POVs get confusing, it is kind of supposed to be a little scattered in order to portray the craziness of the situation—Henry's concern, Shawn's pain, etc. etc.**

 **Note 2.0: I've been to Santa Barbara before, but I don't have a photographic memory of the roads and the coast, so if the road I made up doesn't exist, oh well, artistic license, right?**

 **Anyway, let's get this show on the road…or off…because ya know, that's where we left off.**

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

"Damn it, Shawn." Henry hissed under his breath. He shifted closer to his son, feeling helpless in his ability to ease Shawn's pain. "Just breathe, alright? Nice and easy." He placed his hand on Shawn's left knee.

"I…I can't." Shawn said, his voice breathless and defeated.

"Yes, you can. Shawn, look at me." Henry moved his hand to Shawn's uninjured shoulder.

Shawn's eyes met his and Henry felt his chest constrict. He could see Shawn's features were tight with pain and his eyes were desperate. He was fighting for every inhale and looked completely worn out.

 _This is bad_.

Henry saw Shawn's eyes begin to close.

"No! Shawn! You need to stay with me until help comes." Henry tightened his grip on Shawn's shoulder.

"Always…bossin' me around."

"Yeah, sorry kid. As long as I'm your father that's the price you gotta pay." Henry smiled slightly, mentally replaying clips from Shawn's childhood.

Shawn let out a distressed whimper, curling his left arm more protectively around himself. "My side…Dad."

Henry's smiled faded and his grip tightened. "I know, Shawn. Help is coming." Right after he said that, his phone rang. Immediately he answered.

"Yes?"

" _Henry, it's Lassiter. We've located you_."

"Oh, thank God. You guys need to hurry."

" _There's a problem though. Henry, your truck is down a steep hill, more like a ravine. We can see you from the road but it's going to take some finagling to get the rescue team down there. Before they decide how to proceed, you need to tell me how badly you are hurt._ "

"A ravine? Jesus Christ. Alright, alright, I am fine, I could probably walk out of here." Henry downplayed the headache that was emanating from the front of his skull. "Shawn on the other hand is hurt pretty bad."

 _"How bad, Henry? The more specific you can be, the better_."

Henry took a steadying breath. "He was knocked out from the impact and it took several minutes to wake him. He's bleeding from his head and his ride side is what took the force of the blow. His arm is injured and probably his midsection."

 _"Okay, Henry. Hang on a second_." Lassiter replied and Henry could hear distanced talking on the other end.

Henry turned back to his son, who was looking at him with half-opened eyes. Shawn revealed a hint of a smile.

"Shawn, what is it?" Henry asked, confused.

"Did Lassie leave a crime scene f-for me?"

"Yeah Shawn I think he did."

"Wow, ain't that something? Good ole Lassie." Shawn replied, letting his eyes relax until they were nearly closed.

"Shawn no sleeping on me yet!" Henry said, gently shaking his shoulder. "Help is here, so I need you to stay awake." Henry heard the phone shift on the other end.

 _"Henry, the rescue team is requesting that you check the extent of Shawn's injuries. It's crucial to know exactly what we are dealing with here. They'll either do a wrap and run or have to be more meticulous about it._ "

Henry closed his eyes, already dreading what he knew he'd have to do.

"Okay, give me a second. I'm putting you on speaker."

Henry set the phone on the dashboard.

"Okay, I'm ready, can everyone on that end hear me?"

 _"All set here_." Lassiter replied.

Shawn looked at his father with confusion. He could see that Henry was shaking. "Dad…what's—"

"Shawn, I'm sorry, but I have to check out how badly you're hurt." He sighed.

"Dang it Dad. Is this because I broke your lawnmower doing wheelies when I was twelve?"

Henry let a small smile slide across his face. He knew Shawn was using jokes to hide his fear and also to comfort Henry himself.

 _"Shawn, the sooner this is done the sooner you are out of there_." Lassiter said sympathetically.

"Aw, Lassieface, just knowing your salt and pepper complexion is waiting for me is motivation enough." Shawn looked straight at Henry. "Do what y-you have to do." He gave Henry a slight nod.

Henry took a moment before reaching for Shawn's shirt. He gently unbuttoned it until it he had access to what he needed. He pointed the flashlight toward Shawn's right collar bone, immediately realizing what was wrong.

"Broken collar bone, right side." Henry reported.

 _He is the victim. Take the emotion out of it. Report the facts._

Henry put the flashlight on the floor so it slightly illuminated the interior. He slowly reached his left hand toward Shawn's right shoulder, avoiding the obviously broken bone. He slid his hand down Shawn's arm, stopping when he heard Shawn hiss in pain.

"Shh, it's okay." Henry shifted his hand around Shawn's upper arm, near his bicep, tightening his grip slightly.

"Oh my GOD. Dad!" Shawn pleaded.

"I know, I know." Henry whispered consolingly. "That part is over."

Henry spoke up toward the phone. "I think he broke his humerus too." Henry winced sympathetically.

 _That has to hurt like a_ —

" _Okay, Henry, what about his side?_ " A new voice spoke up. _"Is he having difficulty breathing_?"

"HE is right here and would really…appreciate it if you could come pick us up now. Maybe stop for some hotdogs at the boardwalk?" Shawn murmured.

Henry could tell that Shawn knew what was about to happen, and would do everything in his power to avoid it.

 _State the facts. Get the job done_.

"Yes, his breathing has been shallow the entire time. Give me a minute."

Henry leaned closer to his son so those on the other line couldn't hear what he was going to say.

"Listen Shawn. I know this sucks, but we need to get it over with. The sooner it's over, the sooner you are out of here. I'm so sorry kid. I wish I cou—"

"Dad." Shawn interrupted. "It's okay. Just…just do it." Shawn closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, which only exacerbated the headache he had.

However, that headache was a pinprick compared to the pain that erupted at the slight touch of his father's hand to his side.

The front cab of the truck was filled with Shawn's agonizing yell. Henry felt Shawn's left hand dig into his thigh as his head tilted back in pure pain. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he couldn't stop the verbalized suffering from leaving his lips.

Henry did not move his hand away. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Immediately he felt the swelling on Shawn's right side. He pressed his fingers into Shawn's ribs, only to be met with Shawn's breathless begging for him to stop.

"I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry Shawn." Henry kept repeating like a mantra as his hand continued pressing on Shawn's injured side. He felt several of Shawn's ribs give and had to fight the bile from rising in his throat.

Shawn was drenched in sweat, breathing raggedly, and barely hanging on to consciousness when Henry finally pulled his hand away.

"It's over, okay? You did good." Henry said, just as breathless as Shawn.

"Lassiter." He said to the phone.

 _"Y-yeah Henry, we are here_." Lassiter stuttered on the other end. Henry forgot that Shawn's agony was broadcasted for all to hear.

"Several of his ribs are broken. Let me just se—Oh my God." Henry yelped as he picked up the flashlight and shown it onto Shawn's side.

" _What's wrong? Are you okay?_ "

"You need to get Shawn out of here right now." His eyes scanned over the darkening bruise spreading across Shawn's torso. "I…I think he's bleeding internally."

 _"Jesus Christ, Henry_." At that, Henry heard Lassiter bark orders out.

" _We are coming, Henry. Keep our boy awake_." The line went dead after that.

Henry could hear Shawn's ragged, quick breaths; many of them filled with pained whimpers.

"Shawn?" He said, fearing that he had slipped into unconsciousness again.

"'m here." Shawn whispered back, although his eyes remained closed.

"Stay with me, son. It will be over soon." Henry leaned in closer when he realized Shawn was shivering. Whether it was from pain, exhaustion, blood loss, or just the actual cold Henry didn't know. Probably a combination of all four.

"Not goin' anywhere." Shawn replied. But Henry felt Shawn's body relax underneath his hand.

"Shawn!"

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

Alright, yes it might seem like I lied when I said I wasn't going anywhere, but that's more of a metaphorical interpretation of what I said. Obviously, I'm not getting up and walking anywhere anytime soon, so I kept my promise on that end. However, me slipping back below my subconscious, whether that counts as "going anywhere" I don't really know. I've heard it both ways.

Anyway, I don't know how this story has been recounted so far during the time that I was awake. I would say it has been told more dramatic than it was, but I don't think there are enough words in any dictionary to accurately sum up how the last half hour has felt.

I was so rudely awakened from my peaceful slumber and thrown into a fiery pit of absolute hell. I would have much rather been forced to watch "Gone with the Wind" with Gus. It was bad enough to wake up to a throbbing headache and pain radiating throughout my entire side—oh and let's not forget that fact that I can barely breathe—I also had to deal with my father prodding my body like a freshly caught fish.

Okay, I feel bad for him. That really wasn't a lot of fun for either of us so honestly, I don't want to talk about it anymore. What I do want to talk about is the fact that Detective Carlton Lassiter—the lanky, gun-toting detective extraordinaire— left a crime scene to come over here. Seriously? His whole façade of not liking me is crumbling at its core.

I could hear good ole Lassie barking (ha, Lassie barking) orders and did he call me "our boy?" I don't remember being adopted. This whole thing is just confusing. How old is Lassie anyway? Is he older because of dog years?

Ah, sorry. Getting off track again. It is just nice to no longer be in agonizing pain. Seriously, this whole thing is rather ridiculous. My dad seems extremely worried, but the good news is that he can't lose anymore hair over this…sorry Pop.

I'm feeling pretty tired though. I could go for a hot cup of Swiss Miss and a long night's sleep. Breathing still isn't the most fun thing either, so I'm going to turn the story back over, maybe Lassie wants to continue? Popcorn storytelling anyone?

Like I said, I'm not going anywhere, I hope.

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

I don't know what compelled me to leave the crime scene, but there wasn't anything more I could do there. The body was already picked up by the coroners and O'Hara and I were left with nothing. I hate to say it, but we needed Spencer.

So, when I got a call that our little "psychic" ended up in an accident a few miles away, of course I'm going to help where I'm needed. Sure, Spencer drives me insane, but he is still a civilian, and it's not like I _want_ to see him get hurt.

I called in backup and we both drove down the coast a few miles. O'Hara spotted the large truck with damage to its front end. The driver was gone.

 _Bastard._

I knew Henry said they ended up off the road so we both scanned the perimeter until I came upon a haunting site—Henry's truck leaning against a tree about fifty yards down a steep decline.

I waited for the cavalry to arrive before calling Henry again. His tone of voice worried me.

 _How bad really is this_?

It was weird for me to think of Spencer being in a position like this. Typically, he's running about the station, causing problems as most children would, but now he was at the bottom of a ravine, possibly seriously injured. _Only him_.

I knew Henry was barely hanging on to his sanity. Because of the position of the truck and Spencer's injuries, we needed more information to decide how to proceed. I asked Henry to do something I know he would dread.

The details aren't important but nothing in my experience could have prepared me for what I heard on the other end of that phone. I forced O'Hara to step away when I heard her choked sob behind me. _Junior Detective_.

But I didn't blame her. I don't even like Spencer and it was horrible to listen to what he was going through. I wanted to find the other driver and make him pay in the name of sweet justice.

Once Henry described his findings, I felt a fire light under me. Spencer's Golden Hour was ticking, and we needed to get him the hell out of that truck. I took control of the scene and the rescue team began scrambling into position.

 _It's go time._

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

 **Okay I threw in Lassiter's POV because why not? Right? Shawn's POV was harder to write in this chapter because of the seriousness of the situation, but I did my best. Rescue scene coming next!**

 **Please review! It seriously makes my day and I will respond to all of them! See you very soon, I promise! Also doc manager is being temperamental so I'm doing my best to upload.**


	4. Out of the Fire

**First of all, sgfan31, since your messaging was disabled I'd like to say thanks for you review :) also Fictionsforfans and NCISJunkie14 I know I messaged you, but I'll share the love on here too. And the two anons-I see you! When writers say reviews make their day, we REALLY mean it! So keep it up, you're awesome :)**

 **Note: This story could become a seriously in depth "novel" however I think I'm going to keep it to a minimum. I may one day write a sequel where they deal with the actual serial killer, but this story is mostly focused on Henry and Shawn's ordeal and relationship. I don't know how y'all feel about "hospital scenes" but I'm not sure if we will get that far-unless I get a high demand for that!**

 **Note 2:** **Also, it was pointed out that using a biophone in this day and age is unrealistic and I completely agree. So in the rescue scene when the info is being relayed on the radio, it's really meant to be relayed within the rescue team. I figured there had to be someone up on the road that was recording all of the info since they were in a rather precarious situation. Artistic license right?**

 **Enjoy~**

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

I was a cop for a _long_ time. I've seen things most people could never even imagine within the darkest depths of their subconscious. But, seeing my son this way is by far the worst thing I've ever had to bear witness to.

I wish I could take his pain away and somehow mend his broken body, but I can't do anything to help him. I don't think I'll live another day without hearing him begging me to stop hurting him. Every time I look into his eyes in the future, I won't be able to erase the memory of them boring into me, laced with hurt. _That is, if I'll get the chance in the future._

I can't think this way. My son is right here. He is still breathing, although roughly, but God damn it he is here.

I almost laughed in relief when I heard commotion over to my left. The rescue team was coming and this whole awful situation was almost over with.

"Shawn!" I yelled, unable to hide my eagerness to get the hell out of here.

"Shawn!" I yelled louder, scooting closer to my son and resting my hand on his thigh again.

He inhaled sharply, letting out a slight moan as he shifted against the passenger door.

"Hey Shawn it's okay. Help is here. I need you to open your eyes." Albeit slowly, he complied and I was met with a beautiful sight.

 _Is he smiling at me?_

This kid never ceases to amaze me, although usually I'm amazed by his blatant, purposeful stupidity. But now was different. Despite the pain he's still worried about me.

"Hey dad I t-think we've set a new record." He slurred.

"What are you talking about Shawn?" I asked, worried he wasn't all there.

"No arguments...it's been...over an hour." He breathed, laughing slightly but wincing immediately.

"Well will you look at that?" I replied.

The commotion to my left was getting closer. I looked out my window and could make out the headlamps of the rescue team inching closer down the steep and slippery hill.

I was still staring when I felt Shawn grab my wrist.

"It's okay" I assured him. "Help is coming."

"Dad..." he looked up at me again, his hazel eyes piercing my soul. "It's...not your fault."

"Shawn I know...kid don't worry about me. Neither of us saw that truck comi-"

"No" Shawn interrupted. "What-whatever happens...it's not your fault. Promise me..." his voice was tight and fading.

"Promise you what, Shawn?" I could see his eyes growing heavy. "Shawn?!"

He jerked his head up. "Promise...whatever happens, you'll remember it's not your fault. Dad..." his head fell forward again.

I cradled his head in my hands and lifted his face so I could see him.

"Shawn! No! Don't do this to me!" I couldn't hold the sob that came out. "Hey! We've been through worse than this, huh Shawn? Come on, please son. Stay with me!" I heard a slight moan fall from his lips.

"'kay" he whispered. I felt his head become heavy in my hands. I heard a knock on my window and turned. They had begun working on my door, too damaged to be opened the old fashioned way.

I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. My son-my _only_ son-was dying in my arms and I was powerless to stop any of it. He's a pain in my ass but I love him more than anything in this world. I couldn't live without-

 _Stop thinking that way Spencer._

They finally jimmied my door open and I was met with a welcoming sight. It appeared Lassiter had called the entire Santa Barbara Fire Department. I'd have to thank him...I could only imagine the hell he put those people through.

At this point, things started happening very fast. I was asked if I was okay, which I told them _for the third time_ that I was fine and they needed to help my son right now.

I quickly realized that they needed me out of the way, and that meant leaving Shawn. I had been holding his left hand in mine, and letting go may as well meant signing his death warrant. But I didn't have a choice as I was pulled away from my only son and away from the wreckage.

"Shawn! No!"

After being removed from the truck, everything became a blur. I somehow ended up back at the road, apparently taken up by several firefighters and some sort of pulley system. I could not care less, every fiber of my being was concerned with what was still happening inside my truck.

 _My son..._

I heard the radio crackle to life inside the ambulance, where they apparently had placed me. A yellow blanket was draped over my shoulders although I have no recollection of how or when that got there. I could see Lassiter and O'Hara looking down toward the wreckage several feet away. It came to my attention that an older paramedic was asking me questions, but I shooed her away, emphasizing that I was fine, my entire focus was on the words emanating from the radio.

" _Male. Late twenties. Head trauma, in and out of consciousness. Heart rate 110 and thready, BP 90 over 60. Broken ribs, collar bone, and possible humerus fracture. Possible pneumothorax."_

I wanted to be sick. These are not words that should be describing my son right now.

" _We need to transport ASAP. Get a collar on him_."

I saw Lassiter and O'Hara walking toward me. I really just wanted to disappear. How is it that my son is hanging on by a thread while I'm out here completely intact?

 _It's not fair._

"Henry, this isn't your fault." Juliet said as she sat next to me in the ambulance.

 _Did I say that last part out loud?_

She put her arm around me as Lassiter stayed outside, occasionally glancing toward the edge of the road where the rescue team should be appearing soon.

I don't know if it was the adrenaline wearing off or the words on the radio making this situation _real_ but I couldn't hold it together anymore. I put my head in my hands, wanting to scream in frustration. The hot tears building up behind my eyes flowed freely.

"Henry..." Juliet said gently. "It's going to be okay. You've done everything you can and Shawn is in good hands now." She was rubbing my back while speaking. I'm glad she was there and not just Lassiter.

"You need to stay strong for him. He needs you." She said firmly but still empathetically. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, waiting for my son to emerge from that slope from hell.

I caught sight of a headlamp breaching the side of the road. Juliet and I shot up out of the ambulance and ran towards it, Lassiter just behind us.

What I saw stopped me dead in my tracks.

Shawn was strapped to a backboard, a C-collar around his neck. His right arm was strapped tightly to his side. What scared me the most is that a paramedic was holding a mask over his mouth, manually pumping oxygen into his body. All of their faces were tight with worry and anxiety, displaying the gravity of the situation.

I felt my knees turn weak, and soon I felt the strong grip of Lassiter holding me up. Shawn was being put into the ambulance.

"Henry, go. We will follow." Lassiter said.

My senses came back and I was running toward the back of the ambulance.

"I'm his father." I breathed out, leaving no room for argument. I climbed into the back and sat on the side, giving them room to work on my son but always making sure I could see his face.

They attached leads to his chest and we were met with the fast beeping on the heart monitor, showing us all that mattered.

 _Shawn is hanging on._

The doors were slammed shut, siren turned on, and we raced away from the godforsaken stretch of road. I briefly caught sight of the massive truck that hit us out of the back windows, but I turned away and back to Shawn.

The paramedics were relaying information into the radio, only to be met with orders.

I saw one of them swab Shawn's arm and insert an IV lead. I winced.

The beeping on the monitor was becoming faster and more erratic.

"Step on it, we are losing him!" A paramedic yelled toward the front.

My worst nightmare was coming true.

"Pull over. V-fib!"

The ambulance screeched to a halt. I didn't even register the tears flowing down my cheeks as I watched them open Shawn's shirt fully.

They placed the paddles to his chest. Everything at this point was a complete blur. It didn't even seem real to be watching my son die right in front of my own eyes.

"Clear!" A paramedic yelled as the charge surged through Shawn's body.

I heard the steady, fast beat of his heart pick up on the monitor.

 _That's my boy._

The ambulance resumed driving but came to a stop a few minutes later. The doors were opened and Shawn was whisked away from me.

"Shawn!" I yelled after him, although I knew it wouldn't make a difference. Lassiter and O'Hara were approaching me and Lassiter stuck out his hand to help me down, which I was thankful for.

"Come on, Henry. Let's get inside." Juliet said sympathetically.

We all walked into the waiting area of the emergency room, knowing there wasn't much we could do except _wait._

Shawn's life was in their hands now.

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

 **Well I guess I didn't give myself much choice...it looks like I'll be writing a hospital scene. I want our snarky psychic back! Anyway, let me know what you think! I didn't really have a plan when writing this and just let my imagination take control. See you soon! Also any mistakes are mine.**


	5. The Waking Hour

**Hey-o I know, Jen, it was somewhat of a cliffhanger. But "our boy" ain't going anywhere. Psycho4Life thanks for the support and I luv Shawn and another anon I see you too :) You are all great! Like I said, if only one person gets enjoyment out of this story, then I have done my job!**

 **Note: I STILL don't own Psych.**

 **Note dos: I currently have no idea how the next scene will play out, so strap on your seatbelts and get ready for a ride with no GPS and no headlights. Any medical knowledge comes from "Emergency!"**

 **Last note: I know there is a lack of Shules in this, and it is intentional. This is set mid-season 1 so they aren't quite a thing yet, and like I stated earlier, it's all about the father/son moments! But I'll make it up to you by bringing Gus into the picture.**

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

Henry sat in that hospital waiting room for hours. Lassiter and O'Hara had to regretfully leave after two hours without news. Unfortunately, crimes don't solve themselves, especially not ones that involve serial killers still loose in Santa Barbara.

So there Henry was, alone, waiting for news he knew could not be good at this point. He refused treatment so many times that the nurses stopped pestering him. He was sulking in his own guilt when his phone rang.

 _Gus. How could I forget to call him?_

Before answering he caught sight of the time illuminated on the phone screen. He had purposely sat at an angle away from the clock mounted on the wall because with every second that ticked by Henry felt a shred of his hope tick away as well.

 _My God, has it really been five hours since we got here?_

"Hello?" Henry asked, not sure how to answer properly. " _Hello Gus, your best friend is dying right now and I never called you?" There was no proper way to do anything at this point._

" _Hi Mr. Spencer, I know it's very late right now." Gus said cheerfully on the other end. "I just got back to town and went to the Psych office since I heard about the whole serial killer deal. I figured Shawn might have been working late like he usually does on a case. I noticed Shawn wasn't there and when he didn't answer his phone I checked his apartment but his bike wasn't there so I figured he might be with you. Did he lose his phone or something?"_

Henry put his palm to his forehead, pressing forcefully in an attempt to will the headache away.

" _Mr. Spencer?" Gus asked._

"Uh Gus, listen…" Henry began. "You need to get to the hospital near my house. There was an accident and I can explain everything when you get here." Henry said, unable to hide the pain in his voice.

Gus was silent for a moment. _"Um is Shawn putting you up to this? This isn't funny Shawn!" He said emphatically into the phone, not believing the statements presented by Henry._

"I really wish this was all a joke, Gus. It…it's not. It's very serious I mean…Shawn's…" Henry felt his breath catch in his throat.

 _"Shawn's what? Henry?" Gus asked, his voice losing any semblance of cheerfulness and becoming tight with worry._

"He's hurt real bad, my God Gus I can't believe I didn't call you…I'm so sorry."

" _Don't beat yourself up. I'll be over there in less than ten minutes." Gus said before disconnecting. Company car or not, he was about to break every driving law getting to that hospital._

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

An hour had passed since Gus arrived, making it six hours since Henry originally arrived with Shawn. At this point, Gus was caught up on all the details and was unable to hide his absolute horror at the extent of Shawn's injuries.

"His…his heart stopped?" Gus asked in disbelief, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor and willing the tears to stop their descent.

"Well no, actually." Henry replied. "He was in V-fib, so his heartbeat was just very rapid and erratic. Regardless, they still had to…um, get him back." Henry said sadly, the image of Shawn's body reacting to the shock of the paddles replaying in his mind.

"He's strong, Gus." Henry said to his silent waiting room partner.

Gus just nodded, still unable to wrap his head around the fact that his _best friend was behind the doors just a few paces in front of him fighting for his life._

"How has no one given you an update?" Gus asked, incredulous.

"I'm trying to go with the mantra that no news is good news." Henry raised his eyebrows at his own suggestion.

Gus turned to say something but stopped when an exhausted looking doctor stepped through the swaying doors, still in full surgery scrubs.

"Shawn Spencer?" He asked, his face showing no emotion.

"That's us!" They both replied as they shot to their feet.

Henry's heart had dropped to his stomach as he approached the doctor.

"How's my son, doctor?"

"Shawn is one hell of a fighter, I'll give him that." The doctor replied, his green eyes resembling something of relief combined with hard fought victory.

Henry and Gus both waited for him to continue.

"Listen, I won't lie to you. The extent of his injuries is very serious, but as of now he is stable and I don't anticipate anything changing that."

Henry and Gus both exhaled in relief. Henry felt his knees become unstable and he sat in the nearest chair.

"So…he's going to be okay?" Gus asked.

"I am confident that he will make a full recovery, although it will take a while for his body to heal."

"What's the damage?" Henry asked.

"Broken right collar bone, which we placed a pin in to make sure it heals right. That shouldn't cause any problems for him in the future. His right humerus broke in two places which was not ideal, but we used a rod and screws to fix that. Besides having some issues with metal detectors, he's young and should regain full use of that arm."

Henry smiled sadly. "And his side?"

"Shawn broke four ribs on his right side and fractured two. One of them pierced his lung and caused it to collapse. That's why he had so much trouble breathing. But we reflated his lung and made sure his ribs were set to heal. Those will just take time and rest. He currently has a chest tube in because of the pneumothorax, but if he continues to improve, that could be out as soon as tomorrow. He also has a pretty nasty cut on the right side of his head and a concussion."

"Oh Lord when Shawn wakes up he's going to make sure this whole thing didn't affect his 'fabulous hair.'" Gus said, still horrified at Shawn's injuries, but also relieved that he was out of the woods.

"Doctor, is he awake?" Henry asked hopefully.

"After six hours of surgery he is probably exhausted and asleep, which is exactly what he should be doing. But it is possible that he could wake up while you visit him for a few minutes. Tomorrow he should be with it some more."

"But we can see him?" Henry said anxiously.

"Yes, follow me."

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

I'll be honest, this could be some of the best sleep I've had in years. So what if it's because a cocktail of drugs are mixing about my body like a sangria? I need my beauty sleep.

Basically, I don't remember much after my dad was poking and prodding me like a dead raccoon. I remember it didn't feel too great, then a fuzzy conversation between us, and then darkness coupled with a lot of yelling.

I can tell it's been a while because my body feels like it's actually back in one piece. The only time I can think of that felt remotely similar was when Gus and I (mostly me) thought it would be a good idea to climb inside a big tire and go down the steepest hill in Santa Barbara. It was a wild ride, and at the end of it I couldn't tell you the difference between my toes and my eyebrows. Gus chickened out— _as per usual._

But anyway, my body no longer feels like it's in multiple pieces, although it wasn't _actually in multiple pieces,_ it certainly felt like it. I know I'm in the hospital and that people are probably waiting for me to wake up. Call me selfish, but I want to savor this peaceful darkness for just a few more moments.

I've been through enough haven't I? I mean, can't a guy get hit by a car and be left in peace? I don't know if I'm ready to deal with Gus's inevitable sobbing and my dad's angst-ridden, devoted-to-my-bedside act just yet. But I suppose they've been through enough too, so I guess it's time to join them in the land of the free and the home of the no longer unconscious.

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

Henry and Gus were disappointed that Shawn didn't wake up when they visited him the first time, but the doctor had assured him that this was a good thing. His body needed to heal, and sleep would aid that.

It took some coaxing but Gus finally got Henry to agree to go home and sleep for a few hours. It was already very late-or early, depending how you looked at it-and them being there wasn't helping Shawn in any way.

They both returned first thing in the morning, eager to reassure themselves that Shawn's condition was still stable and improving.

They were led into his room, sighing when they saw he was still asleep. They both grabbed chairs and sat next to his bedside.

"Alright kid, you've put us through enough. Want to come back and join us now?" Henry asked his still son.

Gus was freaked out by the amount of wires snaking from his best friend's body. But the one reassuring piece of machinery was the heart monitor, which was beeping steadily and at a normal pace.

"Hey Shawn it's time for you to wake up before Gus has an aneurysm over here." Henry said. He saw Shawn fighting to keep his face still. Failing as his lips betrayed him and curled into a smile. His eyes opened slowly.

"Well at least we could be roommates then, buddy." Shawn said to Gus, his voice quiet and raspy.

"Seriously Shawn?" Gus said shaking his head. "I spend all night worrying about you and you think me having an aneurysm would be funny?"

"Oh come on it's not like you aneurysmed...aneurysmatized? Aneurasti-"

"Shawn, you are unbelievable." Gus interrupted. He let his eyes soften. "It's good to have you back buddy."

Shawn smiled in concession and turned to his dad.

"Shawn..."

"Dad, you don't need to say anything. We made it out AND our no argument streak is still going. Pineapple smoothies to celebrate? Gus is buying."

"Hey wait a minu-" Gus interjected.

"Gus, don't be a blundering tumbleweed."

Gus just looked at him in disbelief. But he realized what Shawn was saying. _He needs a minute with his dad._

"For now we will all have to settle for hospital food. I'll be back." He said while getting up, placing his fist against Shawn's outstretched fist, completing the classic move of comraderie.

Once Gus had left, Shawn turned toward his dad again.

"Dad look..." he began.

"Nope, my turn. I'm the boss, remember?" Henry retorted.

"Really dad? Bossing around your poor wounded son?" Shawn did his best to look pathetically helpless, although he didn't have to try very hard.

"Shawn, I thought I was about to lose you." Shawn's features grew serious as he listened to the words. "I don't even know how to describe to you how that felt. But now you're here and you're going to be okay and I guess...God I don't know...I just need to tell you that I love you, son." Henry sighed. "I don't do that often enough."

"Liar." Shawn replied.

Before Henry could respond Shawn put his left hand out for Henry to hold on to.

"Dad, you tell me that you love me nearly every day. You don't say those exact words but the meaning is still there."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on dad you're not that old. You trained me to be the way I am, you constantly pester me about finding a safe form of transportation, you help me with cases, you make me come over for steak, and you argue with me about nearly everything." Shawn smiled. "That's your way of showing you love me. You think I can't see that? You taught me to be observant, remember?"

Henry shook his head and let out a slight laugh.

"Shawn, thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Well you'd probably be doing something more exciting than being here."

"Trust me, after last night, this is the best place I could possibly be." Henry said, his relief evident.

At that, Gus stumbled in awkwardly with a tray filled with a myriad of hospital Jello. He placed it in front of Shawn.

"What is this? Mango, blackberry, _marionberry?_ But no _pineapple?_ This place is a nuthouse. Guys, you have to get me out of here." Shawn pleaded, once again turning the drama up to a 9 and 1/2.

But before anyone could respond, there was a knock on the door.

"Did someone say pineapple?" The blonde detective asked while revealing the marvelous blended beverage in her hand.

"I may have called backup before we came here." Gus said proudly.

"Buddy, you're the best." Shawn said while savoring the first sip of his smoothie.

Shawn turned toward Lassiter and Juliet. "Thanks for your help guys." He said in a rare moment of seriousness. The seriousness was replaced with a playful glint in his eye. "And don't worry Lassie, the doctor said I could be back at the station within a few weeks. For now Jules will make sure you get out for walks and fed twice a day while I'm gone."

Lassiter sighed. _Still a pain in the ass._

Juliet turned to Shawn. "But really, you're going to be okay?"

"Yeah Jules." Shawn smiled. "I'll be as good as new."

"Well that's great news. We still have a serial killer to catch."

Shawn nodded, a determined look spread across his features. He softened his features as he looked up at her.

"Right behind you, Detective."

"Yeah sure you are, kid." Henry replied. He looked up from his seat at Shawn's side, mentally relaying the message for the others to give them another minute.

"Let's go see if we can find some real food in this establishment." Gus said as all three walked out.

"I know you're worried, Dad." Shawn said.

"No Shawn. After last night I realized life can take a turn for the worse no matter how careful you are. I meant what I said before...you know." He looked into Shawn's eyes, relieved they no longer reflected pure agony. "You do good work and you're an asset to the SBPD. If there's anyone that can stop this sick son of a bitch, it's you."

Shawn nodded, once again feeling filled with a strange warmth. "Thanks, Dad."

"But for now, _heal."_

"Dad, I'm not a dog." Shawn said sarcastically, closing his eyes and enjoying another sip of his smoothie.

Henry just smiled. He couldn't believe what the past day had consisted of. He kept looking over Shawn's body, reminding himself that he was indeed real and still in one piece. One sarcastic, snarky, pain-in-the-ass piece.

 _That's my son._

PSYCH~PSYCH~PSYCH

 **Okay hospital scenes are just wild because I never know where to go with them?** **Did Shawn heal incredibly fast? Maybe, but he IS pretty special so I wouldn't put it past him. Sorry if it was super unrealistic.** **I didn't want to get too crazy because again, this story is really meant for Shawn and Henry's relationship. I hope I did the characters justice, like I said this is my first Psych fanfic.**

 **I will definitely write more stories! So feel free to stick around. Thanks for the support. This was probably the fastest story I've written so I hope it was enjoyable. Until next time Psychos...**


End file.
